


unravelling

by AtLoLevad



Series: the baratheon bunch [9]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, mom!arya, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22667755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLoLevad/pseuds/AtLoLevad
Summary: Arya and her daughter have a discussion about love over hair braiding
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: the baratheon bunch [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387333
Comments: 26
Kudos: 119





	unravelling

When she had been a child, Arya hated having her hair brushed. She could remember squirming around under her mother’s touch, wincing and yelping in faked pain, until Catelyn would sigh, giving up and sending Arya running off. It had seemed silly then - staying still and having her hair forced into plaits that would only become ratty and knotted after minutes of sparring with Bran. Besides, her mother had had Sansa to pamper and preen with. Arya hadn’t been needed or wanted. Arya hasn’t been the little lady that Catelyn had so wished she were.

While Arya had always had great love for her mother, she’d never had much sympathy for Catelyn - she had only seen Catelyn as an obstacle to her fun, a model what Arya couldn’t be and didn’t want to be. And then she’d had children of her own. With Durran’s birth came a rush of emotions that Arya was entirely unprepared for. Behind the all-encompassing love she felt for the babe, was the guilt that she had been a tiny monster to her mother, the respect for her mother’s strength, and the grief over her loss - fresh and painful. She’d cried so much those first few weeks. Poor Gendry had been so out of his depth, but supportive, endlessly supportive.

The grief was easier to deal with as each new child was born. But still present and still almost crippling.

When Nourah was old enough to have enough hair to brush out and braid, Arya took it upon herself to follow in Catelyn Stark’s footsteps. She brought Nourah into her solar and sat the little girl on a stool in between her legs and brushed out the tangles gently and slowly. Nourah had been entirely her opposite - enjoying the repetitive motions and leaning into Arya as she brushed. The little girl usually chattered happily, telling Arya all about the adventures she had gotten up to during the day.

Arya grew to love their daily ritual - she really understood her own mother in those moments. Rhae and Shireen didn’t mind having their hair brushed, but they took more after Arya - wanting the task done quickly so they could get back to whatever they had been up to. Nourah, as she grew up, liked using the time to talk with Arya, learning about her mother and letting her mother learn about her.

The hair brushing had become a ritual of sorts - a way for Nourah to air her concerns and fears.

So now, when Nourah comes to Arya in the middle of the day, hair brush in hand, Arya knows something is up.

“I know it’s the middle of the day,” Nourah says, a little sheepish, “but would you mind, mama?”

Mama

Arya hasn’t been called that in a long time. She smiles and takes the brush, “I never mind, Nourah.”

Nourah pulls over a stool and sets it down in front of Arya’s seat. She settles down and unbraids the messy plait. Arya’s hands nimbly move through the inky black waves, gently separating some of the larger knots. Nourah’s the only one of their daughters that inherited Gendry’s thick, dark hair and Arya loves it. Nourah’s like Sansa in that she likes having her hair braided off of her face, so Arya learned all the different styles she could - even asking Sansa to teach her when they journeyed to Winterfell. Sansa has been more than happy to oblige, carefully commenting about the shock their mother would be in if she saw the Stark sisters now.

Arya brushes Nourah’s hair gently, mother and daughter sitting in companionable silence for a few moments.

Until, “How did you know you loved papa, mama?”

Oh, well that’s not the question Arya was expecting. She pauses, brush still in midstroke and frowns a bit.

“I’m not really sure,” she admits. “We met when I was ten and two, barely. For the longest time, he was the only person I trusted to have my back.” She thinks about her younger self and smiles with affection for the tiny hellfire she had been.

“I wanted him to be my family, even back then,” she says slowly, a little sadly. “But we weren’t ready for that. We were separated when I was ten and three, ten and four? I forget the exact time.”

Nourah sits patiently, absorbing her mother’s story. She’s never really heard this much about her parents’ history.

“I didn’t see him again until I was ten and eight,” she continues, conveniently skipping over why the had been separated for so many years. Their daughter may be ten and nine, but there’s no reason to burden her with the horrors she and Gendry had lived through. It’s strange to think that Nourah is just about the same age she had been when she fought in the Battle for the Dawn. “By that point, I had thought I would never see him again, but when I did...” she trails off.

Nourah smiles, “So it was love at first sight? Like the songs?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Arya laughs loudly, thinking about pushing Gendry in mud and all their talk of cocks. “Not love at first sight and it was certainly not like the songs.”

“Then what happened?” Nourah furrows her brow, trying to figure out where her parents fell in love. Because she knew for certain theirs was not an arranged match. Not with the amount of times she and her siblings had inadvertently walked in on them.

Arya pauses again. “Well, when we were children, he was always looking out for me, even though I thought I didn’t need him to. And then when I saw him again, he was just as handsome as I remembered, more so even. The...the battles I’ve seen are...well, I’m glad you never have to see them. But your father, he’s always been quicker with his emotions. More vocal about them, anyway.”

Nourah purses her lips - that’s true. But her mother’s always been quick with a hug for them or willing to sit for a tea party. Her father’s more vocal about how much he loves them, but she thinks her mother loves them all just as fiercely.

“He’s solid, steady,” Arya’s saying, “and, absent one drunken blunder, knows me better than anyone, and still loves me.”

The way Arya’s lips twist up in a wry smirk when discussing Gendry’s “drunken blunder” makes Nourah want to ask her father just what that blunder was. She thinks there’s a good story there.

“So you love him because he’s steady?” Nourah asks, tilting her head back so Arya can start a braid.

“Partly,” Arya acknowledges. “But I love him for a whole host of other reasons. Love can be built on, my little storm. It’s not just instantaneous, like the songs.”

Arya nudges her shoulder a bit. “Is there a reason you’re so interested in our story, all of a sudden?”

Wrinkling her nose, Nourah nods slowly. “You and father were friends first.”

It’s not really a question, but Arya nods anyway. “Mhm,” she hums, “you forget he’s five years older. Poor thing didn’t see me as a woman when I was two and ten, thank the seven, otherwise I’d have something new to tease him about. I was just a pain in his ass, back then.” She smiles a private little smile.

“And your friendship grew into something more,” Nourah continues.

Arya nods again. “That’s why we work, Nour. We’ve seen each other grow.”

“When did you see him as more than a friend?” Nourah asks.

“He’s always been attractive, don’t tell him I said that, he’s unbearable as it is,” Arya rolls her eyes affectionately. “But I was so young when we were separated, I don’t think I had words for my feelings. I knew I wanted him when I saw him again.” She’s almost dismissive, entirely too curious about Nourah’s reason for all the questions - though she has her suspicions.

“I understand that,” her daughter says quietly, nearly under her breath. “Mychael,” she says suddenly, much louder.

“Mychael?” Arya frowns, her eyebrows meeting over her nose. “Mychael who?”

“Tarly,” Nourah replies, a small smile on her face. Arya drops the braid she had almost finished.

“Tarly?” she repeats, dumbfounded. “Sam Tarly’s son?”

“Yes,” Nourah confirms, a blush rising over her neck and cheeks. “Is that so foolish?”

Arya shakes her head. “No, not foolish, little storm. Surprising, yes. I wasn’t aware that you were that close.”

She chews on the inside of her cheek - only two years since Durran’s wedding, Arya hasn’t really gotten the chance to get used to the idea that slowly, but surely, the rest of their children will be following in his footsteps. And as a girl, Nourah will be leaving Storm’s End for her husband’s home - not having her wild, excitable chattering in the halls will take quite some time to get used to.

Nourah shrugs her shoulders a bit. “Durran spends time with him. He was nice to me when I was a child and whenever we visit King’s Landing. Somewhere along the line, he and I started to spend time together without Durran.”

“I remember,” Arya nods. Mychael Tarly’s a quiet boy, happy to play along with Durran’s rowdy games even though he’s two years older. He had none of his father’s bumbling mannerisms, but all of Sam Tarly’s kindness and curiosity. There are worse men for her daughter to be in love with. “And you think you love him?”

“I don’t know, mama!” Nourah whines, pouting dramatically. “I hoped I would get help from yours and father’s story, but that was useless.”

“Oh enough,” Arya pinches Nourah’s arm. “I can’t tell you what you feel, Nourah, but I can help you understand the feelings.”

Nourah leans into Arya’s embrace, resting her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. “He’s sweet, mama. And so kind. He doesn’t mind when my temper flares and I miss him.”

Stroking Nourah’s hair off of her forehead, Arya replies, “Sounds like love to me, Nourah. How does Mychael feel?”

“Oh, he’s said he would marry me,” Nourah sighs, “but I think he japes.”

“I don’t think so, my love”, Arya laughs. “Men so rarely jape about marriage. Your father and I could speak to Sam and Gilly, if that’s what you’d like.”

“I think I ought to speak with Mychael myself,” Nourah huffs. “He’s stupid, but he listens to me.”

Arya laughs outright - Nourah has the Baratheon look, but her personality is all Stark. She presses a kiss to the girl’s forehead. “I’ll be here, whatever you need.”

“Thanks, mama,” Nourah kisses Arya’s cheek and gathers up the hairbrush, her braid messy and unravelling already. “I need to find a raven.”

With that, she’s a blur as she whirls out of the room, leaving Arya behind.

“Seven help us,” Arya murmurs to herself. Gendry’s going to lose his mind when he finds out that Nourah is just one more step closer to marriage - and leaving Storm’s End. 

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve had this written for quite a while but it got lost in the chaos of my notes app! enjoy!!


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